Two Worlds Collide
by Alrik Stark
Summary: An assassin accidentally finds himself trapped in a hospital with a nosy doctor. The only question is: can the doctor save the assassin from his life and can the assassin keep the doctor safe through it all? {this is also for you random citizen who said i should make my oneshot of this more in depth!}
1. Meeting

One eye closed, the other narrowly glancing through the green tinted scope, watching closely as the cross hovered in front of the unfortunate target.

Finger against the trigger.

A deep breath in.

Hold it.

Finger slowly pressing back.

Breath let free.

Trigger activated.

Bullet fired.

Rejected back and target found dead.

Mission over.

The short man sighed, putting the safety lock back on then pushed himself up from his stomach, getting to his feet. His gloved hand pushed his hood down while his other held on tightly to his rifle. Pale blond hair stood in front of his brown eyes as he watched the - now viewed as ants - run to help the dead being. Of course no help would be needed; a bullet of that size and gone into the fragile skull would mean nothing but death. Of course it would be possible for someone to survive. That's why he also stayed in his spot, watching the ants, until he was certain the victim was dead.

You may find that repulsive.

How could a human being be that bloodthirsty?

Could one even be seen as a human?

For all anyone saw him as was an obedient monster. Cold blooded and a quench that only killings could satisfy. A man with dead and hollow eyes, no voice of his own opinion, no say in what his actions should be, a slave.

No one would understand the responsibilities of an assassin. Of course it wasn't seen legal, but the bosses had their ways around the law. In fact, they played the workers of the law like puppets in an inhuman twisted way. All the assassins could do was obey what they were ordered to do: kill this man. You do it. Kidnap this man. Do it. Murder the whole family. Do it or you can die along with the family. They were all puppets of a higher power. Even if you decided to want out of it, you were seen as a liability and killed before you even lived half a week out of your new life.

Assassinating people was your beginning and your end.

Now how does one even fall in the hands of those bloodthirsty bosses? Perhaps you had no where to go, no family, no life, you didn't even exist and lived amongst the street rats. Maybe you felt like being a rebel to the law; wanted a job of high risk, but an insane amount of money. Just got out of jail huh? What other place would ever think of hiring you? An organization would always accept an ex-con and turn them back into the beast they once were. Sometimes you were recruited and there was no real opening for rejecting the offer.

It is such a lonely, dark and cold occupation. No one to trust. No one who cares. Money and murder is all anyone wants in the organization. No friendships, only partnerships. No thought of a family ever - don't even think of starting one or having one when you join up. All you have in the world is yourself, your gun, and your cash prize.

Welcome to hell.

Lingering in the shadows, after witnessing the death, the short assassin moved out to escape the scene and to report back to the boss that the deed was done, on his behalf of course.

The assassin was always sneaky and careful - getting caught only meant death though sometimes it meant wounded, only to be found and taken to the hospital, and that was worse than death.

Hospitals: a place that smelled much too clean, was much too bright for comfort, and too much questioning went down in the room you were trapped in. If they caught a hint of what you did for your life - say hello to prison or welcome death. You can't let them know your job nor let them push you into giving the organization your in away. You'd be on the wanted list for life - from your group and as well with the police. Even though the law strings are tugged on and manipulated, certain issues are too great to control on the law side.

The area was silent other than the silencing sounds of bugs as he trekked on. His weapon now slung over his shoulders, bounced against his back. His gun was cleaned after every mission, taken care of like a baby, for it was the only friend and family he would ever come to know. His boots crushed the grass beneath him, just like his hands crushed the lives of men and woman and families.

Brown eyes were directed to the ground, and once he took that glance up, the shadow coming for him was much to close to defend and he found himself back on the ground.

Shit.

The one time he didn't pay attention to surroundings, this sort of thing happened. Furrowing his brows, his legs went up, kicking back the oncoming attack. The stumbling man was shrouded in black and it was hard to tell if he was a rivaling assassin or a friend of the man he just murdered.

No time to figure that out though.

Rolling over and quickly getting back to his feet, he moved slowly around, locking eyes with the intruder. Hand to hand combat wasn't his forte but he was definitely not a weakling that would let some other assassin take him down. The blond man was slowly reaching for his gun, but then everything was dark.

The intruder had not advanced on him.

Why was everything so dark?

Where was he?

The smell was odd.

He could hear a beeping.

Eyes flickered open revealing bright lights.

Someone was hovering over him.

He couldn't find the movements to defend himself.

But then a voice.

"You awake?"

Huh?

His eyes managed to fully open and stay like that, wincing at the lights, but was able to grasp an idea of his surroundings. As well as the appearance of the man above him. Some blond man in a coat, looking down at him through glasses. Damn, did he look pissed. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he was slightly intimidated by the newcomer.

"What's your name?"

Lab coat. Smell. White bright room.

Fuck.

He was trapped in a hospital.


	2. No Escape

_Hold in your breath  
A challenge for the dead_  
_Finger on the trigger_  
_Bang, you're dead_  
_Close your eyes tight_  
_Not a witness to what you've said_  
_You're not a villain_  
_Just a mess in the head_

The doctor wanted a name. Fuck. The young assassin stared, wide-eyed at the waiting man, bright blue eyes seeping a hold into his head. His breath, where was it?

Where was the air?

His lungs, oh god, his lungs.

Breathe.

Unbeknownst to him - he had been holding his breath, a normal reaction actually. As an assassin you come across certain times where someone thinks they have shot you down, and to play along, you put on the act of an opossum: Lay there still, hold in your breath, and pray they leave or turn their gaze before you knock your damn self unconscious or give yourself away. A challenge that not everyone dares to take.

In this case; he had not been shot - or had someone believe they had hit him with a bullet, but merely was being questioned by a now rather impatient doctor. All he wanted was a name. However, what name was he going to give? The organization already knew him as Tino - of course his real name, but it was also short and already ready to go as his name for the group. How stupid could he possibly be? Just because he had not ever thought of getting taken to the hospital, he still should have used a name not belonging to him officially.

The longer he laid on the sanitary bed, listening to the monitor track his heart rate, the worse his mental stability was becoming.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

As though the beeps were his clock, ticking away, progressively getting faster, like a time bomb waiting to explode. A cold sweat was producing on his forehead, teardrops of the salty water running down the sides of his face, the need to play opossum again was a growing urge.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Someone shut that machine off!

"Well?"

Reality rushed back to him, his head spinning from so many thoughts spiraling out of control in his mind; vision focusing again, his eyes were still placed on the doctor - now looking more confused than anything. Man, what did this man want again? Ah, right. A name.

"Ti…na."

The doctor squinted his eyes, as though he was looking right through that lie of the assassins.

"…Tina?"

Goddammit. He just gave himself a girls name. Taking that back now would just make the, once again annoyed looking, doctor more suspicious than he already was of him. All he could do was simply nod.

Come on! He was an assassin for fucks sake. Tino's head was not where it should be for a situation such as this one. As long as his ears and voice were in working conditions - then just those two things would have to do.

More questions came; the normal ones, such as: Date of birth, taking any medications, sexually active, drink, smoke, and more for the medical purpose. His birth was of course a lie. Though everything else - Tino answered truthfully; after all, there was no way to get suspicious of someone who does not take medication or smoke. Though on the topic of smoking, his nose did pick up a faint scent of cigarette smoke on the doctor. How ironic. A doctor smoking even though his job is to advise others to stray away.

The tall blond recorded everything he answered to the paper on his metal clipboard, occasionally adjusting his glasses back to the top of his nose. It took a moment of time, but once his hand went through an intense motion of scribbles, the assassin knew he was finished by giving his signature at the bottom.

Finally, now would this oddly intimidating man leave already?

"'Right…Tina. Obviously. You were shot in the shoulder. And to make sure you are okay. You will be here for a couple more days."

Sure. Of course, doctor. An assassin - in a hospital - is going to stay there while receptionists doing the paper work find something that just doesn't match up, the come back to question the assassin, only to call the police on the poor fool, and have the killer arrested.

No.

As soon as this doctor left, Tino would be gone. He would tear the IV out, find wherever they hid his clothes, and jump from the fifth floor if he had to. There was no way he would be staying, there was no way he could, even if he wanted.

"Alright, thanks…"

"Berwald."

Did…did he just give his first name? Didn't doctors normally go by their last with patients?

"Thanks Berwald."

The doctor gave a curt nod, then left the room, leaving the Finnish man alone with a beeping machine and the faint cry of birds echoing back and forth outside. Time to get to work: Tino ripped the IV out from his arm, quickly putting the blanket over him to the small spot, and waited until the blood would no longer drizzle out insanely. Much to his luck, his clothes were placed on a chair, and there was no hassle in getting redressed again and out of the much too revealing hospital gown. As for his rifle…who knew where that could be now. With everything as good as it was going to get, and even with the pain meds now wearing off, and his shoulder starting to ache its way into actual pain, the assassin was off.

Sometimes, it just seemed too easy.

Tino stepped out from his room, glancing around, then made his way to the elevator, and no one stopped him - too busy with their own thing, or the ones who saw did not know who he was and why he was there in the first place. The sudden jerking stop the elevator came to when he reached ground level made him groan; the slight movement in his shoulder sending a stinging sensation through his arm. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Damn, he just needed to get back to base, then things would be fine.

He ran out as soon as the doors opened and through the motion sensor glass doors, leading out to sunlight and freedom, or so he thought. When he took that first step out into the light, the smell of smoke wafted to his nose, and an angry grunt came to his ears, a hand soon finding its way onto his injured shoulder; making the Finnish man flinch.

"Looks like ya still have the wound. Where d'you think you're going?"

Fuck.


End file.
